


The Divine Pattern for Marriage

by JonathansNightFlight



Series: Thirty flavours of falling with you [2]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, First Kiss, First Time, M/M, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, Post-Fall (Hannibal), Top Will
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-22
Updated: 2016-10-22
Packaged: 2018-08-24 01:14:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8350543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JonathansNightFlight/pseuds/JonathansNightFlight
Summary: Post-fall: Will and Hannibal live. The world at large has taken to calling them "Murder Husbands". How long will it be until it occurs to Will that they just might be right? Spoiler: Six weeks, give or take.





	

Six weeks had gone by since Will took them both over the edge of a cliff and into the dark water. Six weeks of antiseptics, analgesics and impromptu back-of-the-car minor surgeries, which is turn brought upon new rounds of antibiotics. Six weeks of evading the Law, which in turn had somehow led them, via a boat trip and a long drive to a hunting lodge somewhere near Vancouver, prepared by Hannibal years in advance. Facilitated by a nigh-invisible Chiyo and with seemingly unlimited assets, they had nothing left to do but heal and wait, counting down the days until everything was in place for a trip to the south. Where in the South, Will had somehow neglected asking.

Ten days after arriving to the lodge, Hannibal had requested they resume Will’s therapy. A couple days after that, the magnitude of his decisions on the cliff fresh and undigested, Will had conceded.

So they talked. Between sparse, healing-promoting meals. Between long hours of learning how to co-exist without turning on each other with knives and guns. Between the numbness of pills and the itchiness of scubs, they talked. Hannibal would push one chair to one side of their tiny living room and leave the other chair by the wooden table, and they would talk. Sometimes their talks would bleed, Will defending tender spots with words curved out of doubt and self-pity. Sometimes their talks would leave them soaked in old, dead blood, Hannibal lashing back, becoming the mirror that reflected the monster within. Sometimes the would talk with jokes and laughter, indulging how easy they could entertain each other, if only the would refrain from digging out each other's skeletons.

But that very day, six weeks to the day from the fall, the script changed. Will had set the chairs up himself. Body relaxed as can be, he sat and waited for Hannibal to inevitably enter the kitchen.

If Hannibal was surprised at the new arrangement, he hid it well. He took the implicitly offered seat and crossing his legs, he nodded.

"Why did you let me talk you into surrendering?"

Hannibal half-closed his eyes "Wasn't that what you wanted?"

"Irrelevant. Why did you do it?"

"Your want _is_ relevant. You wanted me to, so I did".

“So that's all it was Hannibal? Your pound of flesh, your penance… to me?”

“I have never experienced the need of penance, not even towards you, Will. Or rather, especially not when you are concerned. Our relationship has always been one of mutual reciprocation”.

Hannibal reached down and straightened a sleeve, eyes downcast. Coquettish. The early afternoon light catching against his barely-here eyebrows, casting shadows and glows. Painting a holy portrait - something almost demure.

Will's eyes caught in the flutter of the eyelashes and something shifted. He heard himself say “Flirting then. Your imprisonment was an act of flirtation”.

“More than that, surely”.

Will nodded. Their flirting had started a long time ago, years before the day of Hannibal’s imprisonment.

“More than that” he mirrored.

Hannibal held Will’s gaze for a long moment “In the moments I would feel the weight of the walls pressing - dull - against my mind, I would entertain the notion of it being our long engagement”.

Will swallowed hard against the knot that was forming in the middle of his throat. “And your letters, your wedding proposals?”

“Yes” Hannibal’s words came breathless now, a rare lowering of his usually even tone “And then you came”.

Eyelids heavy, ever-so-slightly obscuring his eyes from Hannibal. “And here we are” breathed Will. A faint whispers comes to me, as if from another lifetime _‘But do you ache for him?’_

A giddiness overtook him. Will continued, unwilling to restrain his thoughts from becoming words “And the consummation? Was it at the cliff?”

“We both know that’s not what happened at the cliff, Will.” The words came off admonishing, but Will would know the hint of playfulness, that particular brand of Hannibal-flavoured mirth anywhere in this world. They stood still in the moment, sharing the same scene within their conjoined memory palace. Thick blood glowing black in the moonlight, adrenaline singing through their veins, burning with pain concealed as bliss.

“When was it then, Doctor?” Will spoke, dragging them both over the edge and back to the present. His tone bordering on flippant. “A lack of consummation renders a marriage null, does it not?”

Steady, clinical; was Hannibal’s voice as he replied “I had not known you to hold the doctrine of Catholicism in such regard, dear Will”. Eyes unblinking.

Will barked out a laugh, the pressure overwhelming him fast. “Not Catholicism…” Hannibal watched him eagerly as he shifted his hips on the chair, jeans growing too tight around his hardening erection. “Common law marriages depend, legally, on consummation”.

Hannibal nodded. “There is nothing common about us Will”, motionless on his chair. True to his MO, he would not make this easy on either of them. "What is it that you really want to know?"

Will let his head fall back in frustration, arching helpless against the chair. His body was aching with need, and damning it all he brought the heel of his palm against his denim covered bulge, and pushed. Through hooded eyes he glared at Hannibal - a far too calm, cool and collected Hannibal - and growled softly “Will you make me spell it out?”

Hannibal moved then, a predator's burst of speed. Crossing the distance between them in two long steps, he placed a warm hand on the shivering skin of Will’s neck. And because Hannibal, for all his poise, could bear this no more than Will, he offered the answer. “You have no idea” letting the hunger crack his voice, revealing the effect Will had on him “how I have craved our” a pause as he lowers his head to deeply inhale Will’s scent ”consummation”.

Will let out a breath he was holding for what felt like a lifetime and brought both arms around Hannibal’s shoulders, pulling him downwards, crushing their bodies together. “I need you” he whispered urgently, face buried against Hannibal’s throat “So take me... take everything”.

"You've already taken so much, so just take all that remains

"I am done carrying it alone.

Hannibal was kneeling now, hands running through every inch of Will he could reach. Carding his hair though curls, he rained kisses on Will’s crown. His self control, the angry gunshot wound, all but forgotten, drowning fast in the ocean of Will’s raw need. Of _their_ raw need.

With a deep breath he centred himself. He detached himself from Will’s tight embrace, and holding the other man from the elbow of his uninjured arm, he lifted them both to their feet. Ever so gently, Hannibal cupped Will’s scarred, tender cheek. Thumb moving in circles he stared into Will’s face, committing the moment, the beautiful disarray of his desire-stricken features to memory.

Will looked, felt pained. He started, “Hannibal, please” and then he paused simply because he couldn’t find the words. 

Hannibal tsked, a soothing sound, and Will’s eyes were instinctively drawn to his mouth. A heartbeat later their lips met and it was soft, and breathless, richly flavoured by all the blood that had been spilt to allow for the moment to exist. And Will’s hunger became unbearable, and he whined and clutched.

Hannibal’s hands were strong and soft and rough as he pulled them apart once more “Will” he repeated the name a few times, until Will’s eyes met his. Silent sobs were vibrating within his chest and he let his tears trickle down his face unabashedly. Hannibal’s heart ached in a way he never thought possible. “You are more terrible than beauty itself” he whispered, and those were not the words he'd planned to say.

Will started at that, sobs mingling with surprised laughter. Hannibal could wait no more. “Bedroom” he offered, in lieu of an explanation and started moving. A pause, and then a flurry of footsteps as Will followed.

—————

Hannibal had a number of very set, aesthetically-driven ideas as to how the consummation would unfold. Will, being Will, brought his laborious plans to ruin. And Hannibal, too far gone in the moment, could do nothing but let the need wash over him, allow himself to burn in the pyre of Will’s passion.

He got rid of his shirt, making quick work of belt, shoes, socks. He could no longer hear Will’s footsteps but could feel his eyes on him. He looked over his shoulder to see Will braced against the bedroom’s door, transfixed at the sight of Hannibal stripping. Will’s hand was rubbing unabashedly his crotch, face wanton.

Hannibal smiled, undoing his fly, pulling down underwear together with slacks. His wound complained, and his professional estimation was that tonight’s activities would significantly impair the heeling - a fact that he categorised, filed away and ignored. Presenting his naked backside to Will, he climbed on the bed, on hands and knees. Reaching for the bedside table, he recovered a small container of vaseline. 

Will gasped from the doorway, rubbing clothed cock hard enough to hurt. He brought his free hand to his lips, pushing his own fingers inside, lost in the sensations. “Will” Hannibal’s voice was grounding, but oh-so-breathless as he reached cream-slicked fingers behind him. “Take your cock out. Play with yourself.” Accent thick on the last words, fingers now pushing through his entrance.

Will choked back a moan, stumbling hurriedly with his zipper. His head was swimming, thick lust - unlike anything he'd ever felt even as a teenager - clouding his mind and obscuring his thoughts. Flash-backs of feverish burning, of melted clocks and flashing lights but no; the delirium of now was no less maddening but absolutely delicious. He licked his palm and fisted his cock, and he had to bang his head against the doorway to prevent his cum from spilling at the very first stroke.

Hannibal gasped and Will instinctively moved towards him. As if in a dream, Will got on the bed behind Hannibal and placed his palms on both ass cheeks, watching two fingers work rhythmically. In and out. Pads catching at the rim. Transfixed, he leaned and licked a thick strip on the inside of Hannibal’s thigh. He could taste sweat and arousal. Will felt high.

Fingers rapidly stretching himself, in and out; Hannibal’s face, half-pressed against the pillow, turned towards Will, eyes unfocused. He worked a third finger in his hole and shuddered. Will squeezed his cock harder. He could see Hannibal’s erection twitching heavy, thick, perfect against his belly. Hannibal gasped once more and then “Will” his accent so thick that Will almost lost it.

Hannibal’s stopped fingering himself and opened his legs wider, and Will was already moving, placing himself, allowing his hunger to finally, _finally_ , take over. The first thrust was slow and laborious and painful and Will could hear nothing but the ringing of blood against his ears. Hannibal’s wide back was shuddering underneath him, so he splayed his palm at the very centre, balancing himself before he moved again, slow, flaying them both raw. 

Two thrusts later Hannibal steeled and rolled his hips sharply against Will's movement - and then his whole body clenched, muscles rippling on his back like a body of water. Will screamed. Hannibal choked out his name, and again, and the thrusts became a wild arrhythmical explosion of movements, two bodies pushing desperately into each other. 

It was never going to last. Will’s knuckles turned white from the pressure, now on Hannibal’s hips, bruising skin. Hannibal was pressing his face against the pillow so hard that his vision was nothing but static, no breathing possible. He reached desperately for his cock and spilled his seed all over the bedsheets as Will stilled inside him - so deep, Hannibal felt that he could taste him in the back of his throat, teeth aching. 

Later, when they had cleaned each other up using nothing but the bedsheets and their mouths, when the sweat was beginning to evaporate from their bodies, cooling down the fevered madness, after Hannibal had moved to get up and Will had reached for his hand and just held on to it, they turned once more to face one another.

Will was the first one to speak, and it is only one sentence, but Hannibal shivers at the words and moves to press their bodies together. “Thank you Will” he replies and kisses his husband on the forehead.


End file.
